


Quit Your Bellyaching

by Agent_Pumpkin01



Category: Impractical Jokers
Genre: Bellyaches, Bromance, Cute, M/M, Tummy Rubbing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-19
Updated: 2016-07-19
Packaged: 2018-07-25 10:17:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7528876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agent_Pumpkin01/pseuds/Agent_Pumpkin01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Not even a doughnut lover can stomach thirteen of them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Quit Your Bellyaching

“Uggghhhhh…”

It’s the third time Joe has moaned in such a fashion since they arrived home. Filming had been great, the day had run smoothly– all up until Joe had decided to down thirteen doughnuts for the sake of a shot. Sal can’t say he’s annoyed, he’d encouraged it by laughing and clapping at him, but the second vomit had come into the picture? He’d quickly lost his humour.

“Don’t even moan,” Sal chastises as he settles beside his friend, legs folded neatly under his body as he settles beside the couch his friend is laying on. “You decided to pull this shit.”

“Fuck you,” Gatto grumbles, hands rubbing his stomach and praying for the nausea to die down. He hasn’t been sick in a couple of hours now, but that doesn’t mean it couldn’t come back. And as much as he loves doughnuts? Even the thought of one at this moment in time makes him want to gag. If the camera men had just kept it together when he’d done it the first - or even the second, third or fourth - time, he’d have been okay. But breaking down into laughter thirteen fucking times? There has to be a line drawn somewhere. “I wanted that joke in there. It was good.”

Vulcano purses his lips, does his best to look unimpressed… but the truth is, he’d laughed himself silly when Gatto had downed those doughnuts whole, whooping with childish excitement when he’d gotten past the five mark and started to make jokes about throwing p. Alas, he’d been so desperate to make his friends laugh that he’d kept at it. If the camera men could have kept it together for even five seconds… damn, they wouldn’t be in this postion. “Yeah, all right. You’re right. It was a good one.”

Joe laughs weakly, shakes his head as he lays it back against the cushion his best friend had propped up for him. “Motherfuckers better laugh or I swear…”

Sal laughs, despite himself; a silly giggle of a laugh, as if drunk. “They will, Joey. You did great.”

His affectionate smile falters when he sees his friend lightly arching from the couch, hands clasped over his stomach. For a horrifying moment, he thinks the man is going to throw up where he lays– but he’s saved by the Joker flopping uselessly to the couch once more, arm stuck out towards him and his head tipped in his direction.

“Help me get my shirt off.”

The bespectacled Joker splutters over his breath, eyes wide. “What?”

Laid down, Joe’s eyes seem to roll even harder than they do normally. His hand mindlessly fishes for Sal’s, taking his fingers and placing them lightly on his chest. Unbeknownst to him, his friends heartbeat has picked up. This is all too close for his understanding, particularly with the questionable thoughts he’s had about his closest friend in the past. Joe smiles weakly.

“Don’t be a dick. Massage my stomach for me.”

Scoffing, Sal stands up on his knees and lightly pats the other man’s face. “No way.”

“I’ll throw up right now,” Gatto warns, a brow dipping challengingly. He watches with victory slowly seeping into his features as Sal sighs and hovers over him. Fingers brush over the buttons of his shirt, eye contact made before he wrenches it free and stares at the blue that adorns his friend’s body. For the meantime.

As he slowly makes his way down, popping every button free from its place, he feels his palms gaining in clamminess. Why is he so nervous? Blue material is peeled back and the Joker can’t explain the feeling of comfort as he sees his friend’s bloated stomach; a reminder that he’s still him, the friend he’s always been– so why does he hesitate before putting a hand on his bare skin?

“C’mon, man. Don’t be a little bitch,” Joe pipes up, after he notices Sal’s hand has remained still for several seconds. He doesn’t admit the warmth he feels slowly settling in the pit of his gut, the complete contentment at the fact that this man’s hand is on his body. He’s always admired Sal, all the way back from highschool, had considered himself to be crushing on him for a little while before they’d grown up and ‘moved on’. Except he hadn’t really moved on at all, and the more time they spent alone, the more time he’s reminded of those burning feelings.

“You ought to quit running your mouth before I leave you here,” Vulcano grumbles, gently digging the heel of his palm into the man’s belly and watching him fall limp against the sofa with a moan indicative of relief. To say the sound does things to him, deep down inside of him, is an understatement. He keeps going, hand massaging into the swollen flesh while he works not to let the heat slowly but steadily climbing up the back of his neck spill onto his face in the form of a blush - because why would he? They’re friends, they’ve literally seen each other naked on numerous occasions– why the hell is this such an issue now?

With a quiet inhalation, Sal rubs tenderly over the bump of his belly with a flattened palm, warm skin trailing just a fraction of a second too long to be purely friendly. A smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he kneads tension carefully out of his stomach, taking care not to upset it any more than it already is. One motion that’s too hard and there’ll be hell to pay, vomit to clean and breakdowns to get over; it’s in his best interest to be kind, and as much as he “doesn’t like” to be doing this, Joe Gatto is his best friend. There’s next to nothing he wouldn’t do.

Minutes trail into a solid half an hour of him just rubbing at the flesh of the other’s man tummy, hoping that he feels even the slightest bit better - one so he can stop, another so he can ensure his friend’s good feeling. Thoughts are interrupted by a small groan as the Joker rolls onto his side, eyes half-lidded as he meets Sal’s gaze.

“Thanks, bud,” Joe mumbles, though he doesn’t say anything when Vulcano continues. Softer now, as if he’s petting him rather than kneading the knot in his stomach; fingers dance over heated flesh and Joe finds himself swallowing hard as he trails further down, really has to focus his integrity on the face that sal is his friend. It’s never been so hard to focus on. “I, uh… I feel a little better, now… just gonna lay low, y’know?” And then after a moment: “…ya can stop now, Sal.”

“Huh? Oh–” Quickly, Sal pulls his hand away and stares hard at his lap. Dear God, don’t let him blush. He’s a grown-ass man, rubbing his friend’s fat-ass stomach, and he’s on the verge of blushing. Disappointment in himself is hailed like the coming of Christ for he can feel the realisation raining down on him: he’s flustered. He’s positively fizzling with energy he hadn’t had before their skin had met. “I, uh… feel better, Joey?”

The soft expression that adorns his friend’s face seals the deal: red stains his cheeks lightly, has him staring down at the floor with the hope that he can save a little face. He hears his friend chuckle, feels a hand on the top of his head ruffling through thick hair. He grunts.

“So much better.”


End file.
